


speak and I will listen

by seventeensteps



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventeensteps/pseuds/seventeensteps
Summary: They were saying bad things about his parents, and it couldn't be expected from Ben to let that go. Dad always told him to stand up for himself -- and his family is a part of him.





	speak and I will listen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leadsan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leadsan/gifts).



> sparked from that two-in-the-afternoon kylux chat once again

Ben is trying as hard as he could not to cry. It hurts, not the scratch on his hands and knees, no, that he could handle, he's not a kid anymore, but it's the looks from classmates _and_ teacher that hurt him the most.

They were saying bad things about his parents, and it couldn't be expected from Ben to let that go. Dad always told him to stand up for himself -- and his family is a part of him.

It was okay when he punched Mica and he punched back. It was okay when other kids laughed at him. It was _still_ okay when someone -- Gill and Tash probably -- pushed him and he fell to the ground. But it began to be not-okay when Miss Maryweather came into the room and Mica started crying, and then Tash started blabbering about how he _attacked_ the poor boy, and then his teacher started yelling at him when Ben tried to explain his action.

"It's not fair!" He screamed at her, and all she did was pampering Mica, who was now outright screeching his pitiful cries. Holly was whispering loudly with Layla, both of which were snickering at him. All Ben wanted to do then was to point out to his homeroom teacher that everyone was in on it, if only she had listened.

"Go to the headmaster's office, Benjamin. Wait there until your parent shows up." She said. Ben hated her eyes. They reminded him of the cruel adult villain in the afternoon show he used to watch with Chewie. He hated that show, too.

"You don't even listen to my story!" He said, very loudly, so that perhaps this time she would hear him.

She frowned, exhaling an explosive sigh. "Having famous parents don't always mean you'll get what you want. I will not tolerate a spoiled, rich brat."

And that was not fair, not fair at all.

But he ended up in the headmaster's office anyway. Ben feels tears welling in his eyes, and bites his bottom lip, breathing really hard. It is Monday. No one has come yet. Ben is the only one in the room, sitting on the wooden chair opposite the headmaster's desk, but he still doesn't want to cry right now.

He hears a click from behind, and Ben inhales as quickly as he can, in hope that doing so will quench the urge to wail embarrassingly in front of an adult who will not listen to any of what he has to say.

"Oh, shit," comes the voice behind him. A voice too young to be the master of this school. Out of curiosity and his impulsiveness, Ben makes the mistake of turning his head toward the source of that voice.

Which belongs to a boy, probably not much older than him, he thinks. He's not that good with this age-guessing game, and plus, from where Ben is sitting, the other boy looks sort of small, and thin.

"Oh, shit," he says again, frozen awkwardly, half-in, half-out between the doorframe. His orange-red hair burns brightly in the afternoon light that comes through the giant window behind the headmaster's desk. Ben thinks it's amazing, and for a brief moment he forgets why he's sitting by himself in that room.

And then the boys steps inside, and shuts the wooden door behind him. Ben has to ask him, "Who are you?"

As he moves nearer, Ben realizes he's taller than Ben thought. His short-sleeved white shirt is crisp, gray shorts impeccable, and hair in that typical preppy boy cut. Looking at him makes Ben feel a bit embarrassed, and his clothes are not even close to dirty. The boy turns back, doesn't want to know that answer to his own question anymore.

"I'm Armie," the other one says, voice closer, to his right, and the sound of chair being moved. Ben doesn't pout, because he thinks that's silly, and very childish, and Ben is neither, but he doesn't want to turn toward the red-haired boy. Ben senses a presence near him. The boy, older probably, must already be sitting on the chair next to him. "Who are you? And what did you do?"

Ben head goes hot at the implication that he must have done something for him to be sitting here. "I didn't do anything wrong. Mica said _bad_ things about mother and father!" His whole body whips toward the accuser.

The other boy's face bares no emotion. He looks at Ben and crosses his arms. Ben bites his bottom lip and tries to control his breathing. "Good. Calm down. I haven't said you were wrong."

Ben sighs loudly. He wants to yell, but he knows the boy -- Armie -- is right. "I'm not wrong," Ben starts.

Armie tilts his head a bit. He crosses his legs, too. "You should explain how you are not wrong, not just repeating the same thing over."

Ben frowns at his tone. He doesn't like being scolded, but at least Armie seems willing to listen to him.

He quirks an eyebrow. "So?"

So Ben tells him what _really_ happened. And Armie listens, a little "hmm" here and there, with eyes on him the entire time.

"So Mica was a dick first," Armie concludes.

"Yes!" Ben says, feeling thrilled that an older boy -- someone, finally -- sees that Mica is in the wrong here. Plus, he called Mica a dick. His ears are hot. "You see? But no one, not even the teacher, believed me."

Armie's face seems softer. Ben doesn't why. Maybe it's his eyes. "I do," he says.

That sort of makes Ben want to cry, too.

And Armie sees that. "Hey," he says, "you- I haven't got your name."

"It's Ben," he answers, and averts his eyes to the miniature ship on the desk. He wants to reach out and touch it, but it's too far away.

"Hey, Ben," Armie says, voice steady and clear, and Ben looks back to the boy in front of him. Armie isn't smiling, not really, but Ben thinks, secretly, that Armie -- with red hair and green-eyes -- is better than everyone else. Suddenly Ben realizes the older boy is even taller than he thought, and now Ben feels better, having someone who's older and calmer and here, willing to listen to him. Armie stretches out his hand toward Ben, and held between his fingers is a piece of candy in dark green wrapping paper. "Here."

Ben pauses, eyes on the sweet.

"Why?" Armie asks him. "You don't like chocolate?"

Ben glances at the other boy. He loves chocolate, but. "Mother says I shouldn't accept gifts from strangers," he says quickly without looking at Armie, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

And then he hears -- a quiet laugh -- from in front of him. "Boy." Armie put his other hand in front of his mouth, but Ben can see that his cheeks are a bit red and that he is actually smiling. "You fool," he calls Ben.

Ben is, weirdly, not upset being called both a 'boy' and a 'fool'. "Don't laugh," he says.

"Okay, okay, my mom used to tell me the same thing, too." Armie exhales, a small smile still on his lips. "How about this, will you be my friend, then?"

Ben almost asks if Armie is sure, but that will make this situation even weirder. "Okay," he says instead.

"Good." Armie nods. "Now, take it. Friends share this kind of things, don't they?"

Ben accepts it, and feels like, even if the headmaster walks in right then, he's going to be okay. "Thank you, Armie."

The older boy looks at him, and glances away for a brief moment. "Sure," he says to the pile of documents on the desk, index finger tracing patterns on his bare knee, looking incredibly shy.

Typical milk chocolate tastes better than usual that Monday afternoon.

 


End file.
